


Roulette

by guineaDogs



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Matt is a good best friend, Recreational Drug Use, Shiro is a high school substitute teacher, Shiro is smitten at first sight, Teacher-Student Relationship, everyone in this fic is 18+ tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs
Summary: When Shiro goes to a bar with Matt to celebrate getting a new teaching gig, he meets the most beautiful man he's ever laid eyes on, and he quickly finds out that they have a lot in common. Surely they're soulmates - that's why he's falling so quickly. But falling quickly comes with a price, and it's one that Shiro isn't prepared for:Keith is his student.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Matt Holt & Shiro
Comments: 17
Kudos: 67





	Roulette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [benicemurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/benicemurphy/gifts).



> So!!! I started writing this to celebrate 200 followers on twitter faaarrr too long ago, but I am very happy to share this with you all now. I think the tags cover everything, but please let me know if there is something I've overlooked.
> 
> The title has had many iterations, but I finally settled on this one, which is a reference to the System of a Down song.

If your favorite way to get absolutely shitfaced, or otherwise unwind, is with rough and tough leather-clad macho men and have a good time that involves underground dirtbike races on the edge of a desert canyon, _**The Blade**_ is the place to go. It has _everything_ : cheap bottom shelf drinks, bathrooms without mirrors and sticky floors, dark corners, and walls with patterns of bodily fluids splattered upon them visible only under ultraviolet light. Saying it’s a dive is an understatement, but if you order something with a bottle cap rather than something that requires being poured into a glass, you'll probably be alright.

In all honesty, it's not the venue Shiro had in mind when he told his best friend that he wanted to go somewhere _fun and thrilling_ to celebrate his new short-term but potentially gainful employment. He'd been thinking more along the lines of Emerald City, the nightclub situated in the bluffs of their city. It's a little more expensive given there's a cover charge, but it's clean and has roof access. Though there is hardly anything _green_ in the ways of decorating, it's a venue that does exist to specifically cater to _friends of Dorothy._

"I don't know about this place," Shiro admits as he files out of the passenger seat of Matt's Jeep. The parking lot isn't even paved, so when his boots land on the ground it unsettles a layer of dust. "Nightlife that requires four wheel drive to access it usually isn't my scene."

Matt pulls a face at him as he gets out as well. He stretches his arms overhead, folding them so he can lace his fingers and hold them against the back of his head. "You liked the mud bog."

"That was Spring Break, in Florida, _during the daytime._ " Does the time of day actually make a difference? Yes, no, maybe. Day-Drunk-on-Spring-Break Shiro is a completely different Shiro than the one standing here now, scrutinizing the structural integrity of this supposed bar. Perhaps he just wants to whinge a bit because this place is a bit of an unknown to him. After all, he knows exactly what he can pick up and take home at EC. "And we were actually participating."

Shiro _really_ is concerned about the building. The bar looks like an old farmhouse that could blow over the moment the wind blows in the wrong direction, and it doesn't feel terribly encouraging to see it in such a state. But it's well lit for being far past the outskirts of the city. Beyond the bar, there's a crowd of folks huddled near spotlights that light up a dirt path in front of them. From this distance, Shiro can't see anything distinguishing about them; they’re just a huddled mass of jackets. Beyond them, he can see the not-as-well lit dirt track. The extent of it is beyond his current vantage point, but the loud chatter of folks gearing up for a race and placing bets carries to even this part of the parking lot.

If Matt is saying anything, Shiro is too engrossed in his observations to catch it. He even startles when Matt clasps his hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, easy there," Matt chirps. "I'm going to get us some beers, go find us a good spot."

"Don't do me dirty," Shiro warns him as he heads toward the crowd of people. He and Matt have vastly different preferences in beer.

"What, you don't want a couple Natties?"

Shiro mimes gagging, which sends Matt into a fit of laughter as they part ways. Once he's closer to the crowd, he can see the full extent of the track. While it's fairly level here, just behind the bar, the partially eroded path leads down into a valley where buttes and spires are interspersed. There’s a few spotlights illuminating parts of the course, but the lighting doesn't seem adequate enough. Even though there are still faint traces of purple in the horizon far beyond him, Shiro can't see well enough in the darker unlit areas to know whether the route weaves around the geographic obstacles. 

This would be better enjoyed in the daytime; he can see the appeal in it, but what was the point this late, when the lighting is limited and _clearly_ distributed without a care in the world. It’s completely reckless—

Which would be fun to navigate.

And there it is. 

He _does_ understand the appeal as a participant, just not as a spectator. 

Shiro can’t deny that at his core, he’s something of a thrill-seeker too. It’s just been suppressed and locked away, along with the concept of _fun_ in order to survive graduate school. 

A man in his periphery shouts something unintelligible, gesturing as he does so. Shiro follows along, glancing in the direction the man’s pointing. There's a handful of dirt bikes lined up at the starting line. Their drivers are just waiting for the okay to start. The revving of the bikes reverberates down into his bones, and the accompanying rush of adrenaline gets to him. Maybe he’s ready to admit that Matt's choice in activity isn't so bad after all.

Blocked by some of the other spectators, Shiro can barely see the indicator to _go go go_ , but there's no way he can miss the immediate rush of dirt bikes zooming past him, kicking up billows of dust in their wake. As they head out of view, he can see the lights move, weaving about each other and the geological formations down below.

Matt's shoulder intentionally jabs into him as he sidles up beside him, passing over a bottled pilsner. Shiro takes it gladly, and as retribution for the elbowing, he uses Matt's shoulder as an armrest.

"Thanks for this." He tips the rim of the bottle toward Matt for a moment before tipping it back. He doesn't recognize the label, but it's good, so he has no complaints.

Matt hums in response, easily comfortable with the contact and more than content to watch the race. "You know, if you decide this is too lame, we can still go to EC."

It’s difficult for Shiro to tear his gaze away from the track. "Nah, so far this is fine. And the beer is actually great."

They fall into a comfortable chatter, and when the bikers come back up the hill and pass them again, Shiro makes note of the driver in the red jacket that's in the lead. He has no investment in who wins, has no idea who's even racing, but with watching the lead, it gives him a particular bike to follow, and rather than just seeing a blur of lights in the distance, he can observe and form assumptions about the biker's style.

It's beyond foolhardy— which, granted, anyone willing to race in poor lighting like this has to have some sort of wild streak. It's so easy to miss large rocks or animals in the way before it's too late. This racer is _fearless._ Instead of steering clear of obvious obstacles, which Shiro can see some of the other bikes doing, this one positions to take those obstacles on. There must be a ramp, or a butte that isn't exceptionally steep, because Shiro can see the moment the driver uses it as a jumping point. The light from the bike is high in the air, and then in the following moments it's close to the ground, like instead of spinning out it's riding along the edge of the tires, on the cusp of potential disaster.

Shiro is twenty-five, at an age where he's increasingly more aware of his own mortality, and he can't decide if he wants to experience a jump like that himself, or if the potential of breaking his neck makes him feel like he's going to have a heart attack.

"How many laps are they doing?" Suddenly, this is a question he really needs answered.

Matt shrugs. "Usually it's only about ten or twenty. The races usually don't last too long. We can get you signed up for next time. They have ‘em once or twice a month." Shiro doesn't have to look at his best friend to know exactly what particular glint appears in his eyes right now.

"Maybe." He responds noncommittally.

The lead changes several times over the next few laps, and based on the rousing from everyone in the crowd except for them, it's obvious to Shiro which bikes the crowd has bet money on. When someone in a black jacket wins, with the red jacket trailing very close behind, there's a solid mix of cheers and jeers.

Shiro's bottle has been empty for a while, so with this particular race over, he squeezes Matt's shoulder and heads toward the bar. It's not packed the way EC would be on a Friday night like this, but there's more people at the tables, and in the standing area before a modest stage than Shiro expected.

It's Friday, and Shiro can hear the melodious strumming of a guitar. Of course there's live music in a place like this. Shiro doesn't recognize the music they're playing. It's some kind of folk country, or folk rock, or something along those lines, melodic and easy enough to tune out. It's not that it's bad; the music is okay, and the vocals are decent. It’s a contrast to the music Shiro usually listens to: intense, high energy music that's great to work out to, or a much calmer instrumental or lofi hiphop that helps him focus on what's been years upon years of long term papers and research projects.

There's a spot at the edge of the bar, so he and Matt take a seat there. Shiro insists on getting this round, and Matt doesn't object to it. "Do you _actually_ come here?" He's known Matt for years, and his interests are all over the place, but this one is still surprising.

"Yeah. I mean." Matt pauses, drinking some of his beer. "Yes, but usually with my dad."

Shiro can't even stop the snort that comes, nor the small fit of laughter that follows it. "You took me to a dad bar." It's not an inaccurate assessment: most of the clientele do seem to be considerably older than them, but that's not a problem. Not really. Not at all.

"So perhaps men of a certain age come here," Matt quips with a dramatic shrug. "My reasoning was fairly simple: dirt bike races, and just something different. You're starting a whole new chapter in your life, dude, might as well try something new along the way."

"I got a substitute teaching gig, it's not–" Shiro stops himself, reconsidering his words. It is a big deal. He's been _ecstatic_ about it since he secured it. It's the first field-adjacent job he's been able to find since graduating. "–it's not the first time I've done it." It's just longer. A different age bracket. A final chance to decide if this is really the direction he wants to head in. But the most important thing that matters right now is the three months of a guaranteed paycheck.

Matt waves him off like Shiro’s modesty is an affront. "It's still an accomplishment worth celebrating."

“Yeah.” Shiro smiles despite himself. What would he do without Matt insisting he recognize every milestone he reaches? He isn’t sure, but he knows there truly is no better hype man.

The least he can do is admit Matt is correct and enjoy the rest of the night. Which, in all honesty, isn’t difficult to do at all.

The thing about sitting at a bar, leaning against the edge of the counter, is that it's a prime people watching spot. Shiro can continue chatting with Matt while he looks around. Truly, sometimes it feels amazing that they still have things to talk about considering that in addition to knowing each other for years, they've also been roommates for almost just as long.

Matt's in the middle of going on about some gadget that a massive tech company is testing right now, and Shiro listens attentively, even when Matt gets into the weeds that are well beyond Shiro's knowledge of the topic. That's fine; the fact that Matt is getting a chance to talk so passionately about something he enjoys makes up for it.

As he listens, Shiro scans the clusters of people at the different tables scattered about the bar. He's not on the prowl, not really, he just likes to observe and make a sort of mental game out of guessing what they're talking about, or what their lives are like.

And that's when Shiro sees him. The driver in the red jacket. It strikes him as unlikely that someone else would wear a jacket quite like that one, so he feels confident that it's the same person even when he enters the bar without a helmet on. He's beautiful. Even from a distance, Shiro can see that as plain as day.

He's young, maybe Shiro's age or a little younger if he had to guess, with a lithe frame and a sweeping of black hair that curls around the base of his neck. There's a gracefulness in the way he carries himself, in the way he brushes a hand through his hair. Shiro can't take his eyes off of him, even as he heads to the pool table, and a man who makes _Shiro_ look small in stature throws an arm around the guy's shoulder in a side hug. It looks friendly, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything either—

"Shiro? Earth to Shiro?" He doesn't even register Matt trying to get his attention until he flicks him in the ear. "Jesus, dude, _really?_ "

Shiro swears the guy makes eye contact with him, and as he feels the flush creep up his neck, he decides this is a good time to break his gaze and look back at Matt. "Ah, sorry. What were you saying?"

Matt snorts, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. Listen, you have fun. I'm going to see a man about an alligator."

" _What._ " But Matt doesn't answer. He's heading off somewhere, and when the guy in the red jacket settles on the barstool on the other side of where Matt was sitting, it all makes sense. Oh god– he is _not_ at all prepared for this. Sure, he's spent the past however long checking him out, but he can't remember the last time he's struck up a conversation with a random person like this. Maybe he's gotten far too reliant on apps but—

"Hi." The guy says, leaning an elbow against the bar, palm pressed against the side of his head as he peers over at Shiro. "What's your name?"

"Shiro."

"Shiro," the guy repeats. "I'm Keith. So, Shiro, do you stare at people often?" There's no heat to it; Keith is clearly teasing, made obvious by the slight curve of his lips, the challenge in his voice. He has a nice voice, and an even nicer face, all sharp angles and deep eyes. Sure, appearances aren't everything but Keith is so easily Shiro's _type_ that his knees feel weak.

"No, generally speaking that's–" He takes a swig of his beer. This is his second. Or his third. Enough that he has no excuse to be tongue-tied. "–reserved for exceptionally beautiful men."

"You think I'm beautiful?" Keith sounds surprised, and _that_ surprises Shiro.

"Yes? Have you seen yourself?" A dreadful thought occurs to him. "I mean. Unless I'm being too forward. I did see that you were with, uh." He nods slightly toward the giant man at the pool table, who's leaning against his pole while talking to a similarly giant man.

"Huh?" Keith follows Shiro's gaze, shaking his head. "That's my uncle."

Shiro isn't sure if that's better or worse. It feels _weird_ to hit on a guy in a bar where an older family member is. "Oh," he replies dumbly. His gaze returns to Keith, flitting over him, and that's when he notices the black xs on his hands. On one hand, good on the bar for indicating Keith is under the drinking age, but on the other hand... "How old are you?"

"Twenty. Is that a problem?"

He shakes his head. "Only if twenty-five is a problem for you." They're both adults, but boundaries are important, and Shiro doesn't want to get invested in...whatever this ends up being, if a five year age difference is going to be an issue.

"Not at all. How come I've never seen you here before?"

"Usually I go elsewhere." 

"Elsewhere, hm?" There's an implication in Keith's tone, and Shiro is wise to it.

Shiro nods in response, a noncommittal sound. Keith is his type, Keith is beautiful, and while there's no question in his mind that if they directly have the conversation, Shiro will, without hesitation, take Keith home with him. But they've only just gotten to talking, and Shiro has some sort of sense of propriety. "I saw you racing earlier. You're good."

Keith's eyes widen, as if it's the most unexpected thing Shiro could have possibly said. "You think so?" He looks away for a moment, brushing some of his hair behind his ear.

"Definitely. Maybe I didn't see everything with it being night and all," Shiro responds earnestly. "But you've got _gumption._ "

It earns a small laugh, but one that sounds disused. "I like you already."

* * *

Talking at the bar turns into talking outside, tucked side by side on a parking curb. The night sky is fully dark now, with a spectacular view of the moon and the brightest stars. In the distance, the lights from the outskirts of the city are visible. It's a sprawl, with few exceptionally tall buildings, and the ones that do exist are far off on the other side, imperceptible from here. The view still would’ve been better from the roof of EC, but this one is still good.

Shiro's vaguely aware that Matt is still around here somewhere, but he hasn't seen him. Apart from the night sky, Shiro's found himself completely enraptured in Keith. He can't explain it. Maybe he's further gone than he thinks, and he's got boozy goggles on, but he switched to drinking water a long time ago and he's pretty sure that he's been sobering up because of that.

"What do you do apart from racing, Keith?"

Keith shrugs. They've talked a lot about things that make Shiro feel like he already _knows_ him even if he can scarcely say anything about Keith apart from his age and reckless dirt bike rides "Oh, you know. School and whatnot."

That resonates. Everything Keith has said resonates. Maybe it has less to do with the content of what Keith is saying, and more to do with the fact that Keith seems to enjoy talking to him too, and Shiro's keenly aware of just how lonely he's been. Especially because of school. "I understand that. I feel like that's all my life has been for a while now. School and more school. Still can't believe it's over." But Keith is twenty, and probably doesn't want to hear about how much grinding is involved in surviving graduate school. "What's your major?"

This time, Keith shifts. Maybe it's cold. Is it cold? It tends to get chilly at night, even in the summer. But it's not summer, so Keith is probably definitely cold, and Shiro's just not feeling it because he's been drinking—yeah, that's it. But Keith already has a jacket on, and it would be weird to offer a second jacket, right? Shiro is overthinking this, he knows he is, and so he settles on just leaning over a little, pressing more firmly against Keith's side as if that would help him warm up.

He's so caught up in his own internal spiral, that his brain can't quite grasp what Keith is saying. "What was that?"

"I'm undecided," Keith repeats.

"You'll figure it out." He doesn't want to...major-splain to the guy he wants to hook up with, but he hopes the assurance helps all the same. "Totally normal not to know quite yet."

"It feels like I should know. Everyone else does, but I dunno. Right now I just want to finish the year up and be done with it."

It's a sobering comment, but Shiro also finds this relatable. He licks his lips, gaze darting to Keith for a moment. "You ever think about how vast the universe is? How many stars we can see all at once—given there's no light pollution, of course." 

Keith doesn't say anything; rather he shoots him a look that Shiro interprets as wondering where he's going with this. Shiro has the same curiosity. "Sometimes, it helps to just know that there's so many stars. So many planets, and galaxies, and things we don't know about, far beyond what we could ever hope to see. And when you think about it, we live on just one planet, a speck of dust in this giant cosmos and we're... we're smaller than that speck of dust. We're so small we live on it. We're like... _atoms_." Maybe he is a little buzzed still. "Point is, when we're faced with challenges and indecision, it helps to know that in the grand scheme of things, whatever it is doesn't really matter."

Keith snorts. It should be an ugly sound, but it isn't. "Is that supposed to be comforting? That's so nihilistic."

"But it helps." Shiro laughs. It's promising that all of that spewed from his mouth, and Keith has yet to make any effort to leave him. “At least, it helps me. Knowing that there’s room for error. To try things, try other things if the first things don’t work out.” 

"I guess so." Keith is quiet for a long time, and then he finally stands, stretching before holding his hand out to help Shiro get to his feet. Shiro takes it, immediately noticing that Keith’s hand is smaller than his but his grip is strong and sure. "Some decisions are still better left for a future me, but I've at least decided I know what I want to do with the rest of my night."

"Oh?" Shiro's heart burns with desire.

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Shiro asks as he accepts a spare helmet from Keith.

"I haven't had anything to drink if that's what you're worried about."

Shiro shakes his head. That isn't his concern so much as his wanting to confirm that this is what Keith wants to do: ride off into the night on a motorcycle with a strange man. It's not even a dirt bike, like Keith had used earlier. It's a proper, street legal Kawasaki. That raises more questions, but when Shiro had inquired about that, Keith waved him off.

The easiest explanation is that one of the pick up trucks that filled the parking lot belonged to Keith's uncle, and the dirt bike was probably loaded into the back. Shiro isn't even sure why he's fixated on any of this so much.

"No, I just wanted to confirm this is what you want to do." He tugs on the helmet straps a little too hard, and it digs in too much into the underside of his jaw. He has to unfasten it again to readjust, but he figures that gives Keith another moment to back out.

Instead, he's met with a smirk, and Keith blatantly flitting his gaze over him for not the first time tonight. "Let me take you home, Big Guy."

And with that, any sort of resolve Shiro's been clinging to for the sake of propriety ebbs away, and he straddles the back seat. He scoots snugly behind Keith, wrapping his arms around him.

The engine revs, and they're off. He'd given Keith a general idea of where he lives earlier. Once the different turns actually matter, he tells– well, probably yells– directions into Keith's ear, and gestures.

They end up at Shiro's about half an hour later. Keith eases the bike into one of the motorcycle-designated parking spots the apartment complex offers, and Shiro gets off. Even with the helmet and the jacket, he feels wind-chapped and blown. The night air is cool enough, especially after the ride, that he’s looking forward to heading inside.

A buzzing in his pocket reminds Shiro that he'd had some tunnel vision when it came to leaving the bar: he has an inquiring text from Matt.

 _Did you leave already? Way to warn a guy smh_ 😉

Shiro quickly responds: _yeah, sorry. keith gave me a ride back_

 _Ooooo Keith. Tell me about him later. I'm not coming home tonight; don't do anything I wouldn't_ 🍆🍑💦💦😩

He can’t help but snort and shake his head as he reads the text, and decides to leave Matt on read.

"Everything alright?"

Shiro looks up to Keith watching him, helmet tucked under his arm. He's got obvious helmet hair that's smashed flat in some places, and stubbornly sticking out in others. It's adorable. Shiro’s cheeks burn as he pockets his phone. "Yeah, everything's fine. Let me show you inside."

He offers his hand, and Keith takes it. Keith’s hand is smaller, but his fingers are long and his grip is firm. These two observations are ones that Shiro holds onto as he leads Keith down the sidewalk to his building.

The complex is sizable; located only a mile and a half from the university campus, it's packed and thriving, benefitting from both university faculty who want to live close to work, and students who want to live off-campus. The location is convenient enough even though Shiro's no longer spending every waking moment there anymore.

But that's not true for most of the occupants, and it comes as little surprise to hear the ambient noise of a block party from a different section of the complex. He can guess where it is: the section of single story one bedroom apartments that are on a small no-exit road that offshoots from the main loop through the complex. 

Shiro's apartment, fortunately, is located far away from that part of the complex. There are still wild college parties that occur throughout the complex, but for whatever reason, that's the section where the brunt of them occur, nearly every weekend during the semester.

He can't really fault those students for wanting to have fun: he certainly had his year where after his Thursday night class let out, he spent the night through Saturday night attending similar sorts of neverending-only-pausing-for-sleep parties. But just because he can relate to some extent, doesn't mean he's keen about having to hear every aspect of it all the time.

Keith must hear it too, because he bumps his shoulder against Shiro's forearm. "Sounds like you really didn't need to drive all the way out there for a party, Shiro. Not that I'm complaining."

Shiro laughs in response as they approach his building. It looks like every other multi-floor apartment building in the area, save for a large metal letter affixed to the front of the building. Unlike the block party area, this building has a large open-air hallway dividing the building in two. There's vending machines and massive metal stairs that lead to other floors. Everything except for the individual units is out in the open. For better or worse, it often means he's hit with the full heat of the day the moment he opens his front door. "I went to one of the parties over there once. It's a bunch of guys who totally hate frat guys- or Trevors, as they call them - but totally act like frat guys."

They make their way up the first flight of stairs, then the second, before they finally make it to the two bedroom apartment he shares with Matt.

"What about you? Were you a _Trevor?_ "

Shiro lets out a single, loud laugh as he unlocks the door and ushers Keith inside. "No, I managed to get by without bothering with Greek Life." He locks the door and toes his shoes off. He hangs his jacket up on the coat rack hanging on the wall, and hooks the helmet strap on another hook. "It's totally culty, you know? Want something to drink? Eat?"

Keith follows suit, lingering by the front door to untie his boots as Shiro heads into the kitchen. The common area is relatively neat and open concept, so even as Shiro’s opening the fridge and leaning down to peer in, he's at least somewhat in view from Keith's vantage point. "If you're hungry, I could eat, but don't go out of your way or anything." He's still hovering by the front door.

Shiro glances over at him for a moment. "You can make yourself at home, Keith." That seems to prompt him to move further into the apartment, settling on the bar side of the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room. Shiro settles on pulling out a frozen pizza. When Keith nods in approval, Shiro preheats the oven and digs out a circular pan for it.

"And I don't know. I mean, I don't really know a lot about frats and stuff."

"What?” Shiro frowns. It takes a moment for him to connect Keith’s statement to his own frat boy cult comment. “Oh. I just meant, they all kind of dress the same, act the same, and are _expected_ to?"

Keith makes a face at that, but doesn't comment on it further. Instead he glances around, taking it all in. Neither Shiro nor Matt are much for interior decorating, so apart from a small dining room table, chairs, couch in the living room, a coffee table, and a few other pieces of furniture, the common area is sparse. They haven't gotten further than building a makeshift TV stand from old milk crates, which doubles as little cubbies for consoles, games, and DVDs, but it works. 

"Innovative," Keith says with a snort.

Shiro follows Keith’s gaze. "Look," he responds with mock defensiveness. "It's worked well for us so far. No point in fixing what isn't broken." It's not that funny of a comment, but there's a comfortable laugh shared between them.

"You live with a roommate, I take it?"

Shiro leans against the counter, fingers tapping on the hard surface melodiously as he watches the timer countdown. "Yeah, Matt. He's not coming back tonight."

"It's just us, then." Keith's smile is devastating.

The timer goes off, forcing Shiro to break out of his thoughts about how he’s definitely already at least somewhat smitten with the guy he just met this evening. As he grabs a couple plates from the cabinet and takes the pizza out of the oven, Keith finally seems to feel comfortable enough to help himself to the fridge for a drink.

He ends up with a bottle of water, so Shiro isn't sure if this is more of a drink he wants or if it's an attempt to be polite, but he opts not to question it. He'll just have water too, which is a good idea anyway.

"Eat me."

Shiro's cutting the pizza when he hears Keith mumbled words, and his hand almost slips, heart racing. " _What._ "

"There's a plate of brownies in here and there's a sticky note on the plastic wrap that says 'eat me.'"

Oh. Right. "One of my friends dropped off some _special_ treats earlier today." Somehow, he'd forgotten he'd put them in there.

"You mean they're weed brownies."

"Yup."

Keith's interest is piqued, and as Shiro slides a few slices of pizza on each of their plates, he wonders whether it's even a good idea to consider partaking in edibles with someone he just met. He knows how _he_ reacts to them, but...

"Obviously I'm not saying we have to, since they're yours and all, but I'm down for them if you are."

Shiro tilts his head in consideration, and passes a plate to Keith on his way around to sit at the bar. He stops to grab some water for himself, and finds the plate very tempting. "Have you been high before?"

"Uh, yeah. Totally."

They haven't known each other long, but there's a scoff in Keith's words that he picks up on. "We can split one, if you want. Hunk makes 'em strong and you don't wanna get knocked down on your ass." Shiro pauses. "I'm not letting you leave tonight if we get high, though."

"Oh, I doubt that'll be a problem at all."

That settles it. They eat, drink their water, split a brownie. Shiro can't help but feel a bit awkward following that. He loads the dishwasher with their plates, and eyes Keith. They both know they came here for the same thing, but it feels weird to transition from eating to hooking up. Maybe he should've pursued this in the opposite order.

Too little, too late. "Do you want to watch something? I've got Netflix."

"Sure, why not."

Matt isn't coming back home, so the living room seems like a good place to settle. It's a comfortable couch with plenty of space to stretch out. Plenty of room to put space between them just in case Keith doesn't want to rush into anything. Or changes his mind. Or otherwise just wants his own space.

Shiro settles on the far end, leaning against the arm rest as he reaches for the remote. There's some discussion about what to watch, but they settle on a particular sitcom about community colleges and fall into a comfortable quiet.

Initially there's a couch cushion separating them, but over time, the distance closes. Shiro rests his hand on the cushion, Keith rests his hand there too, close enough that his finger tips deliberately brush against the side of Shiro's hand. His heart's racing as he lets his fingers ghost across the top of Keith's hand.

It's not clear who scoots over first, or if it happens at the same time. 

It's just gentle, barely-present touches at first. Keith's fingers trail along the defined muscles of his arm. Shiro's fingers brush over the lower part of Keith's thigh near his knee. Keith shifts closer. Feeling emboldened, Shiro moves his hand upward, dragging his fingers over the top Keith's thigh, then along the inner expanse.

Their gazes remain focused on the television, except for every time that Shiro finds his gaze shifting to Keith, who looks beautiful painted in blue light. There's a couple times where they glance at each other at the same time. Keith hasn't said or done anything to indicate that he's changed his mind about the direction where he wants the night to go. Still, Shiro finds himself searching all the same.

They've been getting on so well thus far, and Shiro doesn't want to miss a cue and jeopardize it.

But when they make eye contact, Keith smiles at him and that alone is needed reassurance. When Keith follows that up with covering Shiro's hand with his own and moves it to rest on his hardening bulge, Shiro gets all the confirmation he's looking for.

Shiro squeezes gently, watching the way Keith's face contorts in desire. He's beautiful. _So beautiful._ He's only known Keith for a few hours, but watching him right now, Shiro knows deep within his soul that all he wants is to give Keith whatever he desires.

He squeezes, palming Keith's hardening cock through his pants. One of Shiro's favorite things in the world is cock. He loves how it feels in his hands, in his mouth—and elsewhere—but right now, with the high buzzing about him, making his movements slower, his thoughts stilted, he feels particularly pleased by the sensation of hard cock beneath denim.

Keith whimpers, hips twitching up against Shiro's palm. He's already so worked up, so needy, and it had Shiro both immediately invested in encouraging him, and feels more than just his own ego swelling.

He pulls Keith into his lap, immediately tugging him close. His hands slip into the back pockets of Keith's pants, rocking his hips up against Keith's, who's breath hitched with a quiet _oh._

"Is this okay?"

Keith nods eagerly, licking his lips. "Yeah. You're just– _wow_ , Shiro." Fuck, Keith is adorable. In another stroke of apparent boldness, he reaches between them, taking a moment to feel him up. "God, you're huge."

Shiro feels his cheeks burn. "That's all for you."

The moment ends with the both of them bursting into a fit of laughter, and Keith slumping against him as his chest heaves. Shiro knows that however this night goes, it's going to be good. Being able to share laughter, even if completely weed-induced, means everything.

Eventually the laughter subsides, and Shiro finds himself running his hands over Keith's thighs again. "Tell me what you want, Keith."

"I want you to touch me."

"Where? How?" He leans in, leaving a trail of kisses along the side of Keith's neck. The younger man responds immediately, back arching with a soft, pleased sound. "We can do whatever you'd like. _However_ you'd like."

Keith bites his bottom lip as he considers. "I don't know, I haven't actually... you know?"

Shiro blanches. There's nothing wrong with being a virgin, or inexperienced, but– "Are you sure you want to do any of this then?" A first time didn't have to be meaningful, or with someone special but... sometimes that's what people want, isn't it?

"I want this. I want _you._ " Despite his previous hesitation, he sounds confident and determined for a moment, but he falters again quickly. "It's okay if, uh. If that's a deal breaker for you. If you don't want me anymore, I get it."

Shiro doesn’t understand why Keith immediately jumps to that conclusion, and his heart aches for him. “That’s not it at all. I want you,” Shiro says breathlessly, winded. “I just don’t want to be the reason you regret your first.”

His heartbeat thrums loudly, all the way up to his ears, watching Keith as the younger man nods, clearly processing everything Shiro said. That moment passes, and Shiro scarcely as a moment to brace himself before Keith surges, their mouths connecting in a sloppy kiss.

At some point, Shiro gets his wits about him enough to stumble down the hall to his bedroom with Keith’s hand in his. Article after article of clothing piles up on the floor as they discover each other’s bodies.

* * *

It's the best weekend Shiro can recall having in a long time. Saturday is a blur, but he learns the important things: Keith is brilliant, so brilliant. They have the same sense of humor. The same interests. They can talk about anything, or nothing at all, and it just _works._ And he looks so beautiful when he’s completely undone, splayed across Shiro’s bed with hooded eyes, neck and chest covered in hickies.

Matt doesn’t come home that day, which works out just fine because Keith doesn’t leave.

On Sunday, when Shiro wakes up next to Keith– who offers him a sleepy smile and pulls him in for a kiss before dozing again– Shiro feels certain that it's the best weekend he's ever had. He's certain he's never connected with someone, in both body and mind, the way he has with Keith.

In the grand scheme of things it hasn't been a long time at all: they met Friday night, stayed up until they passed out, slept late on Saturday, but spent the rest of the day and night sober and still wrapped up in each other. It feels like instant chemistry. He hangs off of every kernel of information Keith shares with him, and Keith seems just as enraptured with him.

Shiro feels so happy he could burst, and when his best friend finally texts him, he has to gush.

_wait you still have that guy over?_

_Yeah? He's special, Matt. I've never had a connection like this before. It's like we truly get each other. He's so smart, and funny, and god, he's just so beautiful_

_have you even known him 48 hours, Shiro? You need to slow down_

_Matt._

_no don't 'matt' me. i'm serious. the last thing you need to do is get ahead of yourself AGAIN. maybe you'll have a good thing that goes somewhere with him, maybe you won't. but right now? the last thing you need is to get hurt again. don't rush headfirst into another relationship_

Shiro glances beside him, watching the gentle rise and fall of Keith's chest as he breaths, nestled in the blankets as he sleeps. He's so beautiful, basked in the late morning light. He's antsy to get up and moving, having been awake for a while now, but he doesn't want to disrupt Keith's sleep.

He's still not sure whether Keith is a light sleeper or not, especially since they wrapped up Friday night high out of their minds. At least from his own experience, Shiro knows he sleeps much harder following a night spent partying than he would otherwise.

So instead of getting up and starting coffee, or cooking breakfast, he watches Keith a little longer before finally responding to Matt.

_I know. I don't want that to happen either. But I know what I'm feeling and I know it's real. I've never met anyone like him._

Matt's only response is sending a GIF from one of the Sassy Gay Friend skits they used to watch some years back. _Slow down crazy, slow down._ Shiro huffs, setting his phone back onto his nightstand.

It's warm under the covers, and Shiro is happy to slide back down into them and curl up beside Keith. As all things do, eventually the lazy and relaxing morning comes to an end. When Keith does wake up, for good this time, he looks at his phone and hurls himself out from under the covers with a _shit_. 

“Everything okay?” Shiro asks, sitting up to lean against the headboard, watching as Keith scrambles to find his clothes.

“Yeah– I, uh. Just forgot about this family thing, and I’m going to be in for it if I don’t get back.” He dresses quickly, and though he looks like he’s about to dash out, he still pauses to lean over Shiro, tangling his fingers into his hair as he kisses him deeply.

Shiro rubs one of his hands along Keith’s side as he responds, resisting the temptation to coax him back under the covers with him. “Can I see you again?” He searches Keith’s face as he pulls back.

Keith tries to play off a confident smirk, but his eyes are bright, dancing with delight and fondness. “Definitely.” 

* * *

The rest of Sunday passes far too slowly; he and Keith texted back and forth a couple times, but it really does seem like he’s busy given how sporadic his responses are. Which is fine. Shiro has plenty to do: laundry, dishes, obsessing over what outfit to wear on his first day at his new job, whether he has everything that he needs together and ready to go.

He does, and he eventually settles on a pair of black slacks and a deep blue button up. Simple. Professional. Fitted. He feels confident, and ready to face the day he walks up to the front steps of Garrison High School. Not long after, he’s getting situated in his classroom for the next few months, and in that moment he’s excited to plant seeds and inspire young minds.

His thoughts drift to Keith as he gets himself organized. Keith is probably in his classes now, and Shiro isn’t going to disrupt that. But later… later, he’ll text him. He’ll tell Keith about his day, perhaps they’ll get dinner together. It would be a perfect reward for a good first day. 

Shiro smiles to himself, holding onto the thought.

The last thing he ever expects is to recognize one of the students who scurries in right before the late bell.

 _Keith_.

* * *

A wave of nausea washes over him as he stares at the students—or more specifically, _student_ —in front of him. He’s glad that he’s seated at his desk, because he knows what would’ve happened if he’d been standing: the ground would’ve unearthed itself, and he’d be stumbling backwards, having no choice but to brace himself against the dry erase board. He’d immediately lose all credibility with the rest of the class–and this is a senior class. _They’d eat him alive._

He sees only one viable option: Shiro must compartmentalize, just get through this first lecture, then the remaining ones for the day, and worry about any potential laws he’s inadvertently broken later. In the meantime, he simply will not look in Keith’s direction at all. 

It’s not fine, but he can do this. He has to.

Clearing his throat, he stands, grabbing the clipboard that holds his attendance rosters. “Good morning, everyone. As you know, Mrs Brooks is out on maternity leave and will not return until the spring semester.” There’s a _whoop_ from somewhere in the back of the classroom that Shiro shuts down with a withering deadpan. “Until then, I will be taking over as your physics instructor.”

Shiro hesitates, just for a moment. There’s an awareness that he looks young, and in the grand scheme of things, he probably isn’t that much older than his students. He needs to assert that he’s qualified to cover the material, doesn’t he? “My name is Takashi Shirogane–you may call me Mr. Shirogane–and I hold a master of science degree in astrophysics.” See? Qualified. More than. “We’ll go through roll, and then get started.” 

All in all, it goes well. Or it doesn’t go as terribly as it could. In this particular moment, that’s all he can ask for. Then the bell rings, and as the students chaotically flee the classroom, Shiro starts to exhale a sigh of relief.

Only to see Keith lingering until he’s the last one left in the room. He approaches Shiro’s desk, and instead of getting that exhale he wanted, Shiro feels like he’s choking on air. He hates himself, because despite the turmoil and disgust he feels about the situation–about himself–there’s part of him that recognizes that Keith is too beautiful to look so sad and alarmed.

The moment Keith’s almost flush against the desk, the words rush out of him. “Shiro, I’m so sorry, I–”

Shiro can’t look at him. His eyes clenching shut, he drags his hands down his face with a measured breath. It all flashes before his eyes: his life is over. He certainly can’t teach anymore. He doesn’t even know if he wants to teach beyond this gig, but all it takes is one specific label and he can kiss all of his hopes and dreams goodbye. So much for pursuing a PhD. So much for finding a reputable engineering firm to work for. NASA? Forget about it.

He knows, logically, that this is his fault, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Maybe he should have been more thorough, but he never would’ve made the choices he did if he hadn’t been lied to. “How old are you?” Shiro asks, cutting Keith off before he can finish whatever bullshit apology he’s formulated. 

“Eighteen. But Shiro, you have to understand, I didn’t, I _never_ –”

“Mr. Shirogane,” Shiro corrects, drawing a clear line in the sand. “Get to your next class, Keith.”

To his credit, Keith obeys and leaves the room, and soon the next class starts to file in. Shiro powers through the day and keeps his brave face on, but by the time he gets home, there’s only shreds of it left.

He hadn’t been able to keep his lunch down, but his appetite is so non-existent that it doesn’t even bother him. Instead he merely raids the liquor cabinet and pours himself several fingers of drinkable paint thinner and lets his large body be absorbed into the depths of the couch in the living room. 

This is going to make him sick, but it’ll get him plastered first, so who’s the real winner here?

Shiro knows the answer. It’s not him. The only thing he has going for him is that the student he fucked before he realized was his student, is legally an adult. But that’s such a low bar that Shiro still feels like he’s tripped on it and fallen face-first into a great big pile of shit. 

He finishes his glass quickly. He hasn’t done shots in a few years, so the rush of straight 151 proof liquor burning down his throat and settling in his gut makes his stomach churn, but that’s what he needs right now.

There are worse ways to be self-destructive. 

It doesn’t stop his thoughts, which have now ventured beyond how fucked he is, to thinking about how much he’s potentially ruined Keith’s life, too. As he refills his glass, he tries to piece together the past few days. They’d seemed so perfect, but–

Did he influence Keith? Pressure him? He’s pretty sure he didn’t, but is that really for him to decide? What if Keith ends up needing therapy because losing his virginity to his substitute physics teacher damages him that badly?

Shiro’s probably going to be financially responsible for that, and it’s a shame he already has a stupid amount of student loan debt, because he’s not sure how he’s going to afford that. 

He’s somehow spiralled even further when the front door opens. 

“Hey, how’s my favorite–” Matt greets loudly, pausing mid-sentence as he flips the light on and frowns in Shiro’s direction. “Why are you sitting in the dark? Surely teaching high schoolers didn’t kick your ass this much already.”

Shiro’s lost track of how much he’s had to drink, and he’s sunk into the couch so much that he’s pretty sure he’s fused with it. He definitely can’t move, or try to stand up. That would absolutely trigger his stomach and the last thing he wants to do is projectile vomit onto the coffee table. 

But apparently Matt has decided to bring home something greasy, and the smell wafting from the kitchen to the living room just might do it for him. 

His stomach lurches, and he presses a fist against his mouth. “I– I fucked up, Matt. Like really fucked up.”

The room is spinning–or perhaps it’s clear just how far gone he is, because Matt leaves the back of food on the counter and instead carries the kitchen trash bin over. “Jesus, dude, you reek.”

Even in this state, Shiro can’t say that’s a shock. He probably smells like a stew of cheap vodka and sweat–and when the smell of the trash can hits him, vomit. But it’s still better to clutch and heave into that than any alternative.

Although Matt is an excellent best friend, he has his limits, so the moment Shiro starts retching, he’s on the other side of the room and clear from any mess. “So… are you capable of telling me what the fuck is going on that has you in a drunken stupor on a Monday night?”

Shiro tells him. He spills his heart out through hiccuped sobs, but Matt doesn’t react. He’s expecting Matt to really tear into him, to say _I told you so_ and _what the fuck were you thinking, Shirogane?_ But it doesn’t come.

From the couch, he looks up and over at his friend. Shiro’s vision is blurry, and he’s considering the possibility that there’s a rift somewhere in Matt’s vicinity, and the weakness between this universe and the others is the reason why he’s seeing more than one of him.

Matt solidifies his state as he approaches Shiro and sets his hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, Shiro. Let’s get you to bed. Whatever it is, we can talk about it tomorrow, alright? Whatever it is, it can wait.”

It’s all thanks to Matt that Shiro ends up in bed with a piece of bread in his stomach and a tall glass of water at his bedside with the painkillers he’d inevitably need come morning. He even has the foresight to move the small waste bin beside Shiro’s desk to beside the bed. 

* * *

Shiro awakes with a sour stomach sometime after falling into a deep sleep. The only indication he has for the time of day is the fact that his room is still completely dark. He hurls into the bin, and when his uncontrollable need to gag subsides, he dozes back off, hanging halfway off his bed.

When his alarm finally pings a few hours later, he has a splintering headache and undoubtedly looks as awful as he feels. Shiro quickly takes the pills and guzzles down the water–which is a mistake–but it merely _threatens_ to come back up. If he’s lucky, his state will be improved by a hot shower.

If not– well. He has no choice but to face the day and just hope that it doesn’t stare back at him too hard. It’s not like he can call out on his second day. 

The shower helps him feel not as gross, but it does little to help the dull exhaustion that permeates through his body, making him drag as he gets ready. In more normal circumstances, he doesn’t drink on nights when he’s got an early start the next day.

But Shiro doesn’t always make sound coping decisions. 

There’s at least a few small mercies that make his morning a little easier: there’s a frozen breakfast burrito in the freezer to microwave, and a bottle of gatorade in the fridge. It’s not his typical breakfast of choice–the burrito is very likely Matt’s–but he can make it up to him later.

He’s seated at the bar, taking small bites of the burrito that is miraculously both too hot to comfortably hold but still frozen in the center, when he hears the creaking of an opening door.

Sudden movements aren’t great for his head quite yet, and neither are loud noises. Shiro settles on swallowing his bite of tortilla and eggy potato, and greets Matt with a mumbled ‘hey.’

“Surprised you didn’t sleep through your alarm,” Matt comments. He gets closer, enough that he can lean against Shiro’s shoulder. “Is that my burrito? _Dude._ ” Shiro might be an inconsiderate roommate for claiming it as his own, but Matt is an absolute gremlin who snatches it off Shiro’s plate to take a bite before setting it back down. “ _Foo’h taxsh, assho’e._ ”

Shiro doesn’t even fight it. He just shakes more hot sauce on the open end of the burrito and continues forcing himself to eat. 

Matt, clad in the most ridiculously vibrant neon pajamas, lifts himself onto the counter across from the bar so he can stare Shiro down in that way he does when he’s demanding the tea, no matter how scalding or unpleasant it is. “Tell me about last night.”

Shiro doesn’t really want to. He said whatever he needed to last night; it’s Matt’s own fault that he can’t speak blackout drunk while sober. But he also knows Matt, and knows he's not going to take no for an answer.

Sighing heavily, he leans against the back of the barstool, pushing his breakfast away. He's uncertain as to whether he's going to be able to keep his food down in general, but if he has to talk about how he fucked up and destroyed his life, he's definitely not going to be able to.

"It's Keith," Shiro says slowly, chewing at the inside of his cheek. It's hard to make eye contact with his best friend, but he manages it.

"The guy that you were like cockhungry over like two days ago? The one you barely know, and got all _twu wuv_ over? That Keith?"

Shiro wants to say that now isn't the time for Matt to give him shit about his life and choices, but it's exactly the right time. It just isn't pleasant to endure Matt's judgement. He means well, and the root of it is he's tired of Shiro getting his heart broken over stupid guys, but it doesn't make the criticism any easier.

"Yeah, that one. When we met, he told me he was twenty. Turns out he's eighteen."

Matt lets out a low whistle. "Okay. It's super shitty he lied to you, but—"

"But that's not the worst of it," Shiro interrupts. "I found out yesterday he's a high school student. He's one of _my_ students."

That gets Matt to quiet down. A somber silence fills the space between them. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. I mean– Obviously I can't ever see him again, and that sucks because I really like– _liked_ him. But now I feel skeevy for hitting it off so well for someone who has barely been eighteen for a month. What does that even say about me? I usually don't go for younger men, and the one time I do, this is what happens." He's rambling. Shiro knows he is, and as he gets all of this out in the open, it feels strange. Like less that he's the one saying it, and more that he's watching himself reveal all these awful things that have plagued him since yesterday.

"Morally and ethically speaking," he continues, "the right thing to do is to tell the principal that there's been a sudden and unexpected conflict of interest and it's no longer appropriate to serve as a substitute teacher and—"

"Wait. I'm stopping you right there." Matt waves a hand in his direction to emphasize just how much he doesn't want Shiro to finish that sentence. "Shiro, you're a good man. You've got a beautiful, kind head on your obscenely large shoulders—"

"But I'm not. I've tried. I've tried _so hard my whole life_ to be righteous and good—"

"Shiro, you're overreacting. Take a deep breath and listen to me. You're good. This is a fucked up sitch, I'll give you that, but only on a technicality. You fucked a legal adult who just happens to be a student at the high school that you started working at, officially, after any fuckening happened. Happens all the time."

"I highly doubt that—"

"If you're talking, you're not listening to me." Matt frowns at him. "I understand your impulse to be the perfect law abiding citizen or whatever, but now is a good time to remind you that even Captain America breaks the rules."

Shiro scowls. "You know this isn't a comic book situation, right? What's happening right now, _in real life_ , isn't comparable to Brubaker's Civil War arc."

"All I'm trying to get at is: you're fallible. Embrace it, learn from this and check IDs before fucking cute twunks in the future. And most importantly, I need you to be able to pay your half of rent, so whatever the administration doesn't know won't hurt them."

* * *

Shiro isn't jazzed about the plan he now has in motion. It feels like being stuck between an unethical rock and hard place. He _should_ resign. He knows he would feel better about the whole thing if he was anywhere else but his classroom in the science wing of Garrison High School.

But in this economy?

He knows he was lucky to be able to get this job, and as qualified as he perceives himself in being, there's a lot of competition. His CV might be exemplary for a young professional, but it doesn't change the fact that he's competing with people who have at least a decade of experience every time he applies for a job.

And Matt's not wrong; he needs the paycheck.

He can grin and bear it. He can compartmentalize and be the professional educator that his students need. Including Keith. He can put his personal biases aside and grade fairly, and encourage everyone to participate in classroom discussions.

Shiro returns to school, determined to put his resolutions into practice.

Keith, too, tends to squirrel away in the back of the classroom now, usually only opting to participate when he's called upon. Unlike the first day, he's quick to leave as soon as the bell rings.

It feels cruel to admit to himself that there's a certain amount of relief in that. But Keith leaving when he's supposed to, and not lingering to try to talk to him fits within the paradigms of appropriateness that is necessary if Shiro's going to finish out his stay at the school. 

Shiro can get through the rest of the semester as long as that keeps up. They can just pretend that nothing happened and once they get to winter break, Shiro won’t have this job anymore and he won’t have to acknowledge the biggest mistake he’s made five days a week.

But then there’s the texts. 

Shiro never responds, but over the course of the following two weeks, he occasionally receives a text from Keith. He never opens it, but he can see from the push notification that it’s usually a variant of _i’m sorry_ and _please can we talk_. It makes something awful and noxious simmer in his gut.

Shiro knows he's simply doing what he must, but it doesn't lessen the obnoxious guilty feeling that crops up every time he receives one of these texts. He should just block Keith, really, but it's hard to bring himself to do.

It's as simple as opening their convo and pressing all of three buttons, but that doesn't sit well with him. There's a finality in cutting Keith off this way, even if he's already not responding. Sometimes, Shiro feels certain that the spiral he has each time he receives a heartbreaking text from Keith is better than no longer receiving any at all.

 _I'm fucked up_. The thought screams within his skull. All he's doing is delaying the inevitable and prolonging the hurt.

It's a strange juxtaposition to be in; the solution appears to be simple but in a way it's not that clear-cut. Because the Keith that he met that weekend, the one he connected with so intensely, is a Keith he's still infatuated with. Which is, admittedly, not very smart.

Shiro knows that. Because there really isn't a difference between Keith from that weekend, and the Keith who lied to him. He's not magically two different people. Shiro knows that. But he also knows that he has _no idea_ what else Keith may have lied about. 

When there’s a knock on his front door on a Friday night—and Keith on the other side of the aforementioned door—Shiro finds himself immediately in turmoil. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he croaks. Suddenly he feels parched, dried up in the way one might after a hike in the desert with inadequate water. The last thing he needs is anyone to recognize this for what it is: a student showing up at his teacher’s private residence. 

But it doesn’t stop him from noticing how beautiful Keith is, even when with his face scrunched up in displeasure. Shiro has scarcely looked at him over the past weeks, and he hates how much getting the opportunity to now makes his heart race.

“Well. You wouldn’t text back. What other choice did you give me?”

Shiro leans out of the doorway, just enough to glance about. As far as he can tell, there’s no one else around. No one is watching. For better or worse, Matt isn’t home either. “Fine. We can talk, but you have to leave immediately after.”

He opens the door further, allowing Keith to enter, and closes the door behind him. Keith doesn’t hesitate in the doorway like he did the first time he was here, instead drifting toward the bar, where Shiro has his laptop set up along with some papers. Among them are copies of his resume and CV. 

“You’re looking for a new job?” 

"Yeah." A short-term teaching gig isn't going to cover his expenses in the long run. Granted, a full-time teaching job isn't likely to either. And that’s not to mention the PhD programs he’s applying for. He doesn’t know if those will go anywhere, but on the off-chance that it does, it’s worth a shot. "That's part of the whole post-university thing. Gotta get as many applications out as possible in hopes of finding something long-term."

"This one's in New Mexico."

"Have to be open to relocating,” Shiro mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “What did you want to talk about?" It's not that Shiro doesn't have an inkling, but merely the fact that he knows that being too casual with Keith is a dangerous path to walk down.

Keith frowns, staring a hole into the countertop before looking up at Shiro. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I know I should've told you that I'm eighteen. I just— I don't have an excuse. I was just caught up in the idea that someone like you could be at all interested in me."

The confession is raw and Keith is visibly vulnerable in a way that makes Shiro's broken heart splinter even more.

"What's not to like about you, Keith?" The words are but a whisper, and the moment they escape his lips, it's too late. It's an admission he hadn't wanted to share. He drags his hands down his face. "You're special. You really are. You're smart, daring, and kinder than you give yourself credit for." Even in his efforts to keep professional space between them, that hadn't escaped him.

"But?"

"But you lied about your age, about being in college—"

"I am technically taking dual enrollment courses."

"You're _in high school_ , Keith, and for the time being, I'm your teacher. There can't be anything between us."

Keith chews on the inside of his cheek. "What about after? When I graduate?"

Part of Shiro wants to indulge the fantasy. To let himself pretend there's a chance that when this is all said and done, they can meet back up, start over, see if whatever developed between them goes anywhere.

But Shiro's life isn't static. He can't say he'll still be here six months, and it would be cruel to even give Keith the chance to hope. So he steels himself, and shakes his head. "You should find someone your own age. Or better yet, focus on your studies. Apply to universities, scholarships. You've got potential, and your future is big and bright." 

_It just won't include me._

* * *

**Eight months later  
** **Albuquerque**

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

Shiro looks up to see Keith standing before his table They haven’t seen each other since the fall semester ended the previous year, and already Keith looks different. He’s a little taller, more filled out. He looks _good._ Shiro finds himself fumbling over his words. “Oh, it’s. Not a problem. Do you, um, want coffee? The coffee here is the best around.” 

He’s standing before Keith has time to answer, and in doing so manages to stumble over both his chair and the table. Smooth. Totally not mortifying.

“Sure. The mocha en fuego looks interesting.” 

As Shiro heads over to order their coffees—the mocha for Keith, a Turkish latte for himself—Keith takes a seat at the table. It’s a good thing that there’s a person in line in front of him, as it gives Shiro a chance to linger around the counter and collect himself. 

It’s not that he’s particularly surprised that he’s having this sort of reaction; it’s that he braced for it and he’s still a flustered mess. He’d hoped the time apart would taper things for him. But Shiro knows his heart, and he knows that when he falls, he falls hard. No amount of unfortunate events seems to have impacted that.

It’s been months. He’s in a new city, a new state, and yet all the while he’s thought about Keith. Wondered what he’s up to, if he’s been well. When Keith messaged him out of the blue, Shiro accepted it was as good a time as any to find out.

(He’d even mentioned it to Matt—that Keith reached out, wanted to talk. The distance doesn’t stop Matt and Shiro from talking daily, and Matt had sent a string of emojis that Shiro interpreted as approval.)

Once the coffees are made, he carries them back over and returns to his seat. “You never told me how you found out I was in the area.”

As Keith takes his cup, his face turns bright red. “I don’t want you to think I’m a stalker or anything because _I’m really not._ I didn’t know you were going to be at UNM when I accepted… then I saw you on campus the other day.” He sinks down in his chair. “You’re not teaching there, are you?”

Shiro finds himself staring at Keith before he finally remembers he needs to respond. He shakes his head quickly. “Oh, no. I don’t know if I’ll want to go back to that.” He picks at the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup. “I decided to go back for my doctorate, and my friend’s dad has contacts at Los Alamos and he hooked me up with this paid part time intern gig.”

“ _Dude._ ”

His face hurts from smiling so broadly. “Yeah. It still feels surreal. I’m not sure how I got so lucky.” But he doesn’t want to talk about himself. Not really. “Anyway—how have you been? Are you liking college?”

“I’m liking it better than high school, except all the gen eds I need are early, and that sucks.” Now that he says it, Keith _does_ have the look of an exhausted college kid who got strapped down with 8 am classes. 

The exhaustion doesn’t dissuade either of them from falling into a comfortable and familiar flow of conversation. It reminds Shiro of _before_ in the best way. They talk about what they like about ABQ, what they miss from back home, and how Keith still isn’t certain what he wants to study as his major, but he’s taking electives that interest him, so he thinks he’ll figure it out.

Shiro assures him he definitely will.

“I missed you,” Keith says when their conversation comes to a natural lull.

“Keith…”

“I know, I didn’t forget what you said, and I’m lucky at all that you even agreed to meet up.” Keith hesitates, mulling over his words as he searches Shiro’s face. “But I still like you. And I thought, maybe if you did too, we could start over? Or even just trying to be friends? I can’t explain it, and I know this sounds crazy, but I need you in my life, however you’ll have me. I can feel it.” He presses a clenched fist against his own chest.

There’s no need to hold onto his resolve anymore. He’s not in a position of authority over Keith. And more importantly than that, Keith made an impression on him months ago that he’s never been able to shake. Meeting up with Keith today reminds Shiro exactly why he hasn’t been able to forget Keith, why he liked— _likes_ him. “I’d like that a lot, actually. But we have to be honest with each other, and we take this slow. Understood?” 

Keith smiles, and in that moment he looks more beautiful than ever. “Yeah. I’m going to make it all up to you, Shiro, and then some.”

**Author's Note:**

> bring all ur sheithy thoughts to me @/guineaDogs on twitter!


End file.
